


To Give A Hand

by nikirik



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 10:03:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikirik/pseuds/nikirik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt: "During one investigation Will and Hannibal have to stop for a snack at a diner. How will the poor Doctor take it? Lecter/junk food."</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Give A Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [На скорую руку](https://archiveofourown.org/works/833710) by [nikirik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikirik/pseuds/nikirik). 



"Do we have to go to this... torture chamber?" The grimace of disgust on the face of Dr. Lecter is surprising for a man accustomed to be elbow-deep in the haslets.

"Don't be such a drama queen, Doctor," Will rolls his eyes and opens the door into the room full of rancid grease and cigarette smoke.

The scalding orange upholstery is in cracks and creases, the plastic surface of the table sticks to the hands.

"Coffee, donuts, waffles?" cheerfully offers the waitress with curvy hips and a disaster of hairsprayed bangs.

Hannibal chokes and orders exquisitely polite:

"Water, please."

Will chuckles sardonically and takes full breakfast: scrambled eggs with the watery yolk and sluggish celery on a plate, greyish from the frequent use, toast with strips in black, coffee, which reminds of coal in color and flavor.

"Maybe a burger and fries? You're skinny as a rail, sweetheart," the woman shakes her head disapprovingly pursing her heavily rouged lips.

"I'll wait in the car," Hannibal starts to stand up, " I do not want to interfere with your carcinogenic suicide, Will."

"Don't leave me, Doctor, I promise we can share fries."

"Thank you, but I'd rather cut off my own fingers to chew -"

"Then I recommend to take ketchup," Graham advises with a serious mien, "it's really fresh, not even past expiry date, huh? Where are you going, Doctor?"

"Oh, I'm sure I'm able to make something edible if only the local chef will give me... a hand."


End file.
